Page 51 of Dancing With Desire

He laughs. “We do?”

“You’re both quiet and it’s annoying.”

“I thought I was more annoying when I was chatty?”

I roll my eyes. “What are you both hiding? Is Dmitry okay? Is it the families?”

His eyes go back to the road. “It’s a tense time for him.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s spoken out against their boss, their leader. That’s a death sentence itself. If they decide that Dmitry is a traitor, it won’t end well.”

Panic grips me as I lean forward. “What?”

“Relax,” he says calmly. “He’s got it under control.”

“What if he’s wrong? What if they decide to end him instead of Vladimir? Why aren’t you with him right now?”

“Because,” he says, making eye contact again, “I trust my boss, and he knows what he’s doing. He went to a lot of trouble to get you this appointment today, and I have strict instructions to make sure you have a good time. So, relax, and let Dmitry deal with the families.”

Marshall pulls up outside the storefront minutes later, and I stare in awe. It’s all glass, with the most beautiful designs adorning the windows. Flowers line the display, and the realisation that I am actually going to get to marry the man I love after all the heartache and trouble fills me with joy. I’m finally living out my dream.

When Marshall opens the door, I’m hit with the sudden urge to cry with happiness, and he frowns as I step out. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Of course. These fucking hormones are driving me crazy.”

“You don’t need hormones to drive you crazy, Tori, there’s already enough of that in you.” He laughs, and I punch his arm playfully.

“Are you going to open the door for me or not?” I demand, because he’s usually rushing ahead of me to do all the shit I hate.

He grins, pulling it open and bowing slightly as I pass. “You’re losing your touch,” he mutters, and I arch a brow, waiting for him to explain. “You never let me open the door for you.”

“I’m your new queen, didn’t you get the memo?” I tease.

He laughs harder. “There’s the Tori we all know and love.”

We’re met by an elegant-looking woman who shakes our hands. “You must be Victoria.” I wonder to myself whether she can smell the money on me as I return the smile. “I’m AmaraSakkari, one of the lead designers here. I will be looking after you today. Can I get you a glass of Champagne?”

I shake my head, and Marshall leaves us, taking his place by the door, ensuring my safety. It really is something I’m becoming accustomed too.

“Fresh orange juice, please,” I reply as I rest my hands on my stomach. “I’m pregnant.”

“Wow,” she gushes. “That’s amazing news. Congratulations.”

She goes off to fetch the drink, and I move towards the rail of wedding dresses in the centre of the room. My eyes land upon the most exquisite dress I think I’ve ever seen. I carefully run my hand over the intricate lace design decorating the bodice of the A-line dress. There are small diamantes sophisticatedly woven throughout. I’m so lost in its beauty that when Amara places her hand on my shoulder, I jump slightly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She hands me the juice and smiles at the dress. “It’s stunning, isn’t it?”

“I love it.”

Her smile widens. “Why don’t we try it on?”

I pinch the silk material that forms the skirt and pull it out. “I’m not sure it will accommodate my growing stomach,” I say thoughtfully.

She takes my glass and places in on the nearby table. “Nonsense,” she says firmly. “We can make adjustments. We have a London store to help with that and think how amazing you will look with your beautiful bump on show. It’s a timeless piece and perfect for you.”

She directs me into the changing room, which is big enough for an army of people, and instructs me to strip down to my underwear. A few minutes later, she enters, carrying the gown like it’s a masterpiece, with an assistant following behind holding shoes and various bags.

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